It hurts less than it did...but I miss him very much. Still looking for two bowls when it's time to make dinner, looking for him when I come back from a walk with Chip.

Baxter's best stories were his numerous escapes. For about the first year--maybe two?--that I had him, he continuously found ways to escape from a backyard that had proven infranqueable to two previous dogs. Most escapes involved a minor chase around the block--his go-to escape was to the supply of feral cat food around the corner. He did not reach high speeds, so once spotted his re-capture was a simple affair, not to mention that he never seemed to mind being brought home. His escape skills go against everything I came to believe about his intelligence and I have never reconciled the two (Chip presents the same disconnect, in reverse). Anyway, after a year or two, I gave up on securing the yard and he was no longer allowed to go off leash in the backyard. A couple years after that, he had his bout of vertigo that left him with a permanent fear of going down steps, so the yard ceased to be an option. But oh, the panic he induced and the stories he created in his three or four sustained escapes. 

Second-best, I'd say, was the escape I didn't even realize had occurred until it was over, and which went through the front door instead of the back. I had somehow failed to completely close my front door one night and at some point overnight it blew open. It must have been a Saturday or the summer, because I was blissfully asleep when I got a phone call the next morning from someone at Ochsner hospital, which is a couple blocks behind my house. Baxter had been apprehended trying to enter ther maternity ward ON THE 5TH FLOOR.  Apparently, Baxter had ventured out the front door, plodded over to the hospital garage (one block behind my house), and then climbed his way around to the top, at which point--drawn to the smell of fresh milk?--he decided to enter the hospital proper, in the maternity ward. "Oh my god!" I cried, on the phone, as I jumped up and found the door wide open and Chip still next to me--"can you wait two minutes? I'll come get him!" "No need," said the caller. "We just had an outpatient appointment and I have to drive by your house on my way home. I'll drop him off." (His address was on his tag.) "Oh... ok!" I said, "thank you!" And that is how a woman, at least 8 months pregnant, and her husband, came to drive by in their truck and deliver a completely unbothered Cocker Spaniel to my door one sunny New Orleans morning....

 If patterns of thoughts create grooves in the brain, then I imagine that an MRI would reveal a Baxter shaped indentation of worn neuronal patterns in mine. Open door coming home: where is Baxter? Mealtime: put out two bowls. While working: stroke Baxter gently with toes. Getting up from desk: check to see where Baxter is so I don't step on him. At least once per hour: big Spaniel hug just to make sure he knows he's loved/just to make sure I know I'm loved. Each time now that I think that thing or do that thing according to the usual synaptic groove, there is a little shock when I remember that I can't anymore. I imagine the shocks will inevitably condition me to stop having these impulses and thus I will gradually no longer need them, as I internalize his absence. Not sure if I want that to happen or not. In some sense, since he's not with me in his big ol fluffy goofy body, I at least like the fact that he is so deeply imprinted on my mind.

 The vertiginous drop of the soul/heart/spirit upon coming home, opening the front door and seeing what your dog is up to/awaiting the welcome and then...remembering that he's not there anymore. ever.

 When Sancha died I used this space to remember things about her. The cycle repeats, we (pet owners) are like Charlie Brown with the football, except we get to spend 10-15 years each time scoring touchdowns and THEN inevitably God/Biology pulls the ball away and we, no less vulnerable than the last time, fall face first into grief.

I knew Baxter would not live forever and yet, because he had been at the brink of death once and heading in that direction several times more, and had each time stopped short, done a 180, and demanded a cheeseburger...I did think, in a part of my mind that reason does not touch, that he would live forever. And he did...until yesterday, September 16, 2022. He could have lived more, but he could not have lived well, and so I made a decision. I am fortunate that in all my great grief--and I am so, so sad--I do not have any doubts about that decision. Even when I made the wrong decision and prolonged Sancha's life through an ultimately futile surgery and 5 days of agony...I still didn't blame myself for it. But now I know I did the right thing, I know Baxter was ready to go. I don't want to explain his decline here right now. I want to use this space to remember the things that I need to remember as I need to remember them, and right now I want to remember him in all his quirky, goofy, clumsy, lovable, huggable, ever-hungry glory. 

More memories to come. I miss hugging him. I miss him following me everywhere, the way he just lumbered over to wherever I was going and then, with his big sigh and klunk, plopped down at my feet. Never asking for attention (although always happy to have it), just fulfilling what he clearly perceived as part of ht e dog contract, which was to be at my feet. Chip sat at my feet today in the living room, which he never did, and I'm not one for getting all new age-y about things, but it's hard not to think that (my theory) Chip knew I needed that today and/or (mom's version) something of Baxter's spirit has entered Chip. Also there was a weird patch of rainbow in the sky--not stretching across the sky, more like a rainbow-cookie, that I'm sure could be explained by meteorologists or physicists but given that neither mom nor I had ever seen anything like that before, did also plausibly seem to be angel Baxter. 

Zero Sum Game

My theory that you can't be happy in work, romance, and family/pets remains intact.

Interview with two cats

A while back, when Y first got her cats (we'll call them B and V, they can decide whether they would prefer to reveal their full names), Sancha talked about possibly interviewing them to get a sense of the feline perspective on things. Sadly, that interview never happened. Y asked if Chip would be up for it, but as discussed in the previous post, Chip is not ready for journalism school. His main line of question involves: "Can I gnaw on  your legs?" and really, he just goes ahead and does it, he doesn't ask first.

However, I was rummaging around in the boxes I still haven't unpacked despite living in my current house for over a year, and I came across a notebook. I didn't recognize it as one of mine, so I opened it up and found, in rather shaky but still legible script, Sancha's journal! More of a commonplace book, really--collections of recipes she wanted to try or liked, some doodles, ideas for blog posts, and . . .

a list of preliminary questions for the B and V interviews!

I'm not sure if these would have been the final questions she planned to ask or if this was a rough draft, but barring further notebook discoveries, I thought I'd copy them down here and let B and V respond. So, from beyond the grave, Sancha asks:

1) Dale and Y are imagining that this interview will be about the dog vs. cat perspective on the world? But do you identify yourselves primarily as "cats"? Or are there are other elements of your identities that you feel are more important to you? Has your identity been stable over time or has it changed (and if so, how)?

2) What do you like to eat? How do you like to eat it?  I cohabited with a cat once and it was the strangest thing--she was used to having her food out in a bowl all day and she would just nibble a bit here and there. And I was supposed to let a bowl with delicious food sit on the floor unsampled. Does that make sense to you? Can you explain it?

3) You two are siblings and have always been together. I left my litter as a wee pup and have never been particularly fond of other dogs. What does it mean to you to live together? How do you relate to each other differently than you relate to Y and B? Also, as someone who is very attached to a single human, I am curious what it is like living in a two-human family? Do you relate differently to Y and to B?

4) You two, from what I hear, don't go outside much. Are you curious about what's beyond the front door? If you could have a day free to do anything you wanted outside, what would you do? Anything you'd like me to investigate and report back on?

5) Describe your perfect day.

6) What do you dream about?

There are some more, but Chip beckons...

Sancha and Dale and CHIIIIIPPPP

There have been many changes since I last blogged. Or one change, really.
Introducing....

As you will note, he looks a lot like Sancha. Which explains why I adopted him upon sight and why I did not stop and ask myself important questions like: do I want a puppy? does this dog have any training whatsoever? is this dog compatible with my lifestyle? will this dog enjoy blogging?

A month and a half later, I would say the answers are: too late now, a little bit, time to change your lifestyle, and not even close to the required attention span.

Chip looks like Sancha...and the resemblance stops there. Let me give what I think is a representative example. When Sancha saw a pillow, her instinct was to curl up on top of it and go to sleep. When Chip sees a pillow, his instinct is to drag it around the house and if possible remove its stuffing. His incredible ADHD is actually his saving grace, because he can't focus on anything for long enough to actually destroy it. And he is quite responsive to "No!" He just can't remember what provoked a "no" for more than 5 minutes. Somewhere Sancha is laughing hysterically.

I confess that for the first few weeks (or mostly weekends--he is in doggie daycare during the weekdays and I can get some work/me time, but weekdays he requires pretty constant stimulation/attention), I was missing Sancha pretty fiercely. But I've started to appreciate Chip for who he is (although don't get me wrong, I'm still counting on him calming down some once he reaches a year!) And this is what I've learned:

Absolute Joy.

When Chip is happy, which is 99% of the time (I like to think he registers some not-happy feelings when I chastise him, but he certainly doesn't dwell on them), he is SOOOO HAPPY. If the guy for Dos Equis is the Most Interesting Man in the World, then Chip is THE HAPPIEST DOG IN THE WORLD. He is also the friendliest dog in the world. We go to the dog park every day (which has to be the greatest invention of the 20th century) and he loves everyone. Big dogs, little dogs, dogs that don't like any other dogs, dogs that want to play fetch, dogs that want to hump, dogs that want to be humped while playing fetch....he plays with them all. He can do up-close wrestling playing. He can do long-range running playing. And when I am done (because he is never done. The other dogs get tired. He does not) and want to go home, HE IS THE HAPPIEST DOG GETTING HIS LEASH ON.  And THE HAPPIEST DOG DRINKING WATER. And THE HAPPIEST DOG GETTING INTO THE CAR.

I don't think Chip will be blogging any time soon. First of all, literacy is a long way off. But even if we could get an app that translated his thoughts to a blog, I don't think he's been doing a lot of philosophical reflection. Y had a quote from her stepmother (stepmother-in-law? Y's family is complicated!) on her Twitter that says more or less "If you are depressed, you are living in the past. If you are anxious, you are living in the future. If you are at peace, you are in the now." I'm not sure I agree with this 100%, but it is true that I am a historian and I tend toward melancholy and I would guess that most philosophical thinkers and reflective personalities do. Chip is so "in the now" they could rename the now after him, call it being in the chip. When I think of being "at peace" I think of calm and serenity, and that is not Chip. But I think he has his own ecstatic peace. Not good for blogging, but a good thing to have as a model in my life.

Bright side of grief: for Y

There is something lovely about cross-blog dialogue with friends...

Y, who lost her father this spring, posted recently on her blog (to which I cannot provide a link cuz she's all private and stuff. She's probably one of possibly 3 people who will read this anyway) about the "upside of grief." Something I've been thinking about--what follows is the rough draft of a stream-of-consciousness meditation. Don't expect conclusions or convictions.

Maybe there are two kinds of grief.

Every life naturally includes death and loss, even unexpected death and loss. But (as Donald Rumsfeld would have it), there are expected unexpecteds and then there are unexpected unexpecteds. We will, in the natural order of things, lose our grandparents and then our parents. Teachers. Mentors. We will outlive our pets, unless we own turtles. It doesn't hurt any less at the moment of loss to know that this is the natural order of things, but I think it means that there will be a natural arc to our grief, and it will emerge into an "upside." The upside may be nothing more than the human tendency to learn from experience. What does not kill us makes us stronger precisely because it did not kill us. We get through it, we are reflective beings, we look back on how we got through it, and thus we gain in self-knowledge and emotional depth...and hence, we are stronger.

But you never hear someone say after losing a child, or their entire family in a bombing raid, that it made them stronger. There are deaths that, because they invert the natural order of who-dies-first, or because they pile on top of each other and fresh grief interrupts past grieving, never get processed into stages of grief, or narratives that dip down into dark places and then emerge into upsides. The privilege of living away from war, away from mass urban violence, protected from disease epidemics and the immediate impact of natural disasters, is not that we will never know grief, it is that we will only get to know the grief that we will be able to make sense of.

I write this as I work on a chapter of a book dealing with the first century of Spanish colonization of Mexico. In the annual kerfluffle over Columbus Day, or when Mel Gibson made Apocalypto, it is inevitably suggested that the Spanish conquest wasn't all that different from the Mexica (the group ruled by Moctezuma, commonly referred to today as Aztecs but that's an anachronism) conquest of the ethnic groups of central Mexico in the century prior (or the Inca conquest of the Andes during the same period, or the Maya in Southern Mexico and Central America centuries before). It is true that the indigenous Mexicans practiced ritual warfare and sacrifice; the Spaniards certainly did not introduce warfare or violent death to the peninsula. But --- steel yourself, huge leap here --- these wars, which fit into a religious narrative and had set codes and calendars--made sense to the participants. Families surely grieved for lost loved ones. But it was a grief that made sense, that you worked through and processed and found an "upside". That "upside" may have been quite distinct from the personal narrative of self-discovery and inner strength that Y or I might find today from the deaths of our father or dog. But the point is, the Spanish conquest (especially because of the introduction of epidemics) was that other kind of grief--the kind that "unmade the world," that didn't fit into a "natural order of things" (in quotes because what seemed "natural" to the indigenous Mexicans might in no way seem natural to us now) and thus provided no opportunity for natural recovery, natural resilience, natural narratives. There certainly are, even today, indigenous communities in Mexico that have preserved their language and customs (and, it's worth mentioning, there are historians who challenge the unmaking-the-world narrative of the conquest). But I don't think you'd find too many that look back to the conquest and find an upside.

So the Tigers traded away Austin Jackson today for David Price. Ajax wasn't my #1 favorite player (that would be Victor Martinez, on the current roster) but he was in the top 5. Time will tell which kind of grief this is.